Paris Portingale

My Brother-in-Law Ray, by the Month. October – December

Paris Portingale shares a year in the life of his idiot brother-in-law Ray. The final part of this four-part series has Ray thinking he has a kidney stone, trying to game the social security system, and then going to court because of it.

 

OCTOBER.

October, and my brother-in-law Ray’s got a kidney stone. This is because he found out his cousin had one.

He rang me about it.

He said, “Guess what, I’ve got a kidney stone.”

I said, “How do you know?”

He said, “How does anyone know anything? Either you do, or you’re an idiot and you don’t.”

I said, “Of course. Have you seen a doctor?”

He said, “No.”

I said, “Why?”

He said, “Because I could have been a doctor myself if certain circumstances had have been different.”

I said, “Right.”

He said, “Why I’m ringing is, I’ve decided to call it after you. I was going to call it after Booger only it turns out he’s an idiot, so no kidney stone for you, Booger, you moron.”

Ray and Booger, short for Booger-Booger apparently, have been friends for years so I was curious about the breakup.

I said, “What happened with Booger?”

He said, “He’s an idiot.”

I said, “Why?”

He said, “Only because he believes Godzilla killed the dinosaurs.”

I said, “And?”

He said, “He couldn’t have. Godzilla was made from radiation. Where was the radiation back then? It wasn’t. But Booger can’t be told because he an idiot.”

So anyway, the upshot is, I’m getting a kidney stone named after me, which is kind of an honor if you think about it in a certain way.

 

NOVEMBER.

My brother-in-law has developed multiple personalities. He called around to tell me about it, and it seems he has seven.

I said, “Interesting, what are they like?”

He said, “Oh, you know, much of a muchness.”

I said, “Right. What are their names?”

He said, “I think one of them’s called Bob. Not sure about the others.”

What he was planning to do apparently was get social security payouts for each one of them. He said if it worked out he was going to develop some more.

I said, “How many?”

He said, “I don’t know, a couple of hundred maybe.”

I said, “That’s going to be a lot of money.”

He said, “You’re not whistling Dixie.”

 

DECEMBER.

Ray gets a barrister to defend him against charges by the department of social security for attempting to obtain government benefits under false pretenses. He gets someone from the phone book but, having only rudimentary grasp of the way spelling works within the English language, he gets a barista.

To cut a longish story short, while his council’s main line of defense did mainly revolve around coffee, Ray managed to get a suspended sentence because he brought in Barry and Booger-Booger as character witnesses and Booger-Booger found an opportunity under cross-examination to explain his theory on how Godzilla destroyed the dinosaurs and the judge took pity, saying, “Well, with friends like those,” only he didn’t finish the sentence.

 

So, that’s a year with Ray. Most years tend to follow a similar pattern, and I’ll just finish by saying, to his credit, Ray may be a bit of a fuckwit, but in a lot of ways he’s not. Not completely.

 

Paris Portingale

Paris Portingale is a writer and dog owner. While having a somewhat indifferent attitude towards abstemious self-restraint, he does follow the safe guidelines of four standard drinks a day, although his standards are a great deal higher than most, certainly the medical profession’s. Paris is visited often in the night by God, and the meetings are anything but pleasant.

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